Scar Tissue
by CantFaketheFunk
Summary: Two years before PW:JFA, the games between Juan Corrida and Matt Engarde are still in full swing. When a certain woman shows up at one of Matt's parties, he decides to have a little... fun with her, and see just how much she can take. SPOILERS FOR 24


While I guess nothing really _prevents_ this story from being in the same "universe" as my other 'fics (Perfection, Follow the Fool, etc.) this is an unrelated oneshot that takes two years before the final case in Phoenix Wright: Justice For All. There are **major spoilers** **for JFA, Case 4**, so read at your own risk! No real couplings, but this fic is rated R for some language, sexual imagery, and implied suicide.

Enjoy, and please comment!

**Scar Tissue**

All in all, Matt Engarde had to admit to himself, the shindig was shaping up to be a success. Oh sure, the amount of booze he'd had to buy in preparation had cost quite a pretty penny, cleanup tomorrow—he _hated_ deigning to do it himself—would only add to those expenses. He'd carefully budgeted for it, though, and it would be worth tightening his belt for the next few weeks, really.

There were people there. Rich people, powerful people, especially in the film and TV industry. People who hadn't come to his previous parties but were here now, being waited on by their 'dutiful host' and seeming to enjoy it. Connections to be made, alliances of convenience to be forged, a network of human-shaped winches to bring Matt Engarde straight to the top.

Best of all, it severely eclipsed Juan Corrida's last pathetic attempt at hosting a bash, and Matt had to actually consciously refrain himself from grinning from ear to ear at that part. It was rather delightful, actually. He'd gone to Juan's party as was customary in their little game, and there had been people there—but they were nobodies, has-beens, those who deluded themselves into thinking they had power or influence but really had none.

Where Juan had failed, Matt Engarde had succeeded marvelously. There must have been over forty or fifty people there that night, and almost all of them were _people to know,_ whose favor could be most advantageous. Though there was quite a crowd, the atmosphere still managed to be "welcoming" and "cozy" instead of claustrophobic.

The living room of Matt's condo was big enough to hold the throng comfortably, a good-sized room with expensive leather couches and small pieces of modern art lining the walls. Though he'd not explicitly forbidden guests to go into the hallway that lead to the kitchen and bedroom (after all, the bathroom was there, and he'd rather not have some of these drunks puking on his furniture) they mostly stayed put. That, to Matt, was a very good sign—if they respected his home, they respected a part of him.

He had been forced to take out exorbitant loans to afford the single-story apartment, of course. But then, he'd soon be at the top and those loans would be pocket change, and in this industry image and what people thought of you was everything. If they respected his home, they respected a part of him, after all, and Matt had taken immense pains to ensure that his home would be a place to be respected.

Others might have called it a huge gamble, but if there was anything Matt Engarde was sure of, it was that one day his hard work and clever contact-making would pay off, and he would get exactly what he deserved. Hell, he could ditch this place (nice as it was) and get an even bigger one once his long-awaited ship came in. As for the pathetic man who called himself his 'rival'? Well, he'd be left coughing in the dust, soundly beaten, worthless, and alone.

And so, Matt kept discreetly looking out the windows to the street below, hoping to see Juan's red Corvette pull up outside. He'd hate to miss it, after all… he wanted to see Juan's prematurely-aged face and that look of delicious despair as he realized that Matt Engarde had won this round. Again.

The doorbell rang, and the dutiful host moved to answer it, hoping it was that man who liked to call himself Matt's 'rival.' He opened the door to be both disappointed and yet delighted simultaneously—standing outside his condo was a small woman whose short black hair was covered in a brown head scarf that matched her brown dress precisely and exactly. The young actor allowed his eyes to widen in surprise as he stepped back, waving the older woman into his home. "Ms. Vasquez! How _nice_ of you to show up!" he genuflected, knowing all too well how much of an opportunity this was to have her here. If there was one person that could launch him to stardom… well, it would be her.

Before the Global Studio executive stepped into his home, she was eclipsed by the mountain of a man who had been standing behind her in a neat, expensive-looking black suit. "Ah," began Matt Engarde, "of course your…" _hired monkey _"associate is welcome too!" Even as he said that, the hired muscle began to pat Matt down, looking for any sort of weapons that could be used against the powerful woman. His first instinct was to immediately bust the bodyguard in the face, but Matt knew how much of a catastrophically bad idea that would be. The chestnut-haired actor bore it in silence, even though the fact that this brainless goon was daring to do it in his own home boiled his blood.

Once he was done with his patdown, the bodyguard straightened up, giving a silent nod to Dee Vasquez, who stepped into the apartment, looking around in an expression that was almost unreadable, even to Matt Engarde. "Can I get you anything, Ms. Vasquez? Or for your… friend?"

The producer looked straight at the young actor, who feigned a respectful smile. "Dirty vodka martini, on the rocks, straight up. Benny here is on duty; he will _not_ be drinking." With that, she pushed her way past Matt into the apartment, where she was gladly welcomed by the many people congregating within—many of whom were Global employees like Matt himself.

At that, her mountain of a guard nodded. "That's right. I'll just have a Coke, if that's okay with you." Once Dee was out of earshot, however, the guard leaned down to Matt and conspiratorially whispered, "And could you just add a _hint_ of Jack? You know… for the taste."

"Sure thing, dude," nodded Matt Engarde, letting no traces of his anger at being frisked in his own home in public show… he was an actor, after all. He made his way to the wet bar he'd set up in the corner of his large living room, grabbing a martini glass and his best Russian vodka, mixing Dee Vasquez her drink of choice, complete with olive.

That done, he poured the bodyguard a glass of Coke… upon seizing the bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, though, he hesitated before adding some. After a split second's hesitation, Matt pretended to stumble, adding far more than just a 'hint' of alcohol to the bodyguard's drink. "Oops, my bad, dude," muttered the actor to himself. "How's about some Coke to go with your whiskey?"

He handed the two mixed drinks to their respective parties, wondering how long it would take the bodyguard to feel the effects of the whiskey. Meanwhile, his presence was noticed by one of the more increasingly inebriated partygoers—the large, powerfully built action star named Jack Hammer. Even though Hammer's star seemed to be slowly waning, he was still a big name, and having him there certainly made the party seem bigger. He hadn't been to Juan's last bash, either, which was certainly a plus.

"Hey, it's the host! Great shindig, my friend! Come drink with us!" laughed Hammer, slapping the equally large man sitting on the couch next to him on the back powerfully. Will Powers had frequently been cast as Hammer's understudy in many of his roles, and was actually more talented than the elder actor—but his face was disgusting, and as Matt knew well, if there was anything more important than talent and connections in this business, it was appearance.

Powers had been invited to some of these events before, since he was very much Matt's senior and his star was rising, unlike Hammer's. He'd been too weak-minded and polite to refuse, though the way he sat silently and shyly and managed to somehow make himself look very small despite his large muscular frame was pathetic, really. Still, even having him there was a connection and made it look even bigger than it was.

Matt laughed good-naturedly, picking up the brandy snifter he'd momentarily set down on the table and raising it to show that he already had a drink. He'd usually carry it around with himself so that he'd never look like he had an empty glass and be forced to take a drink out of social pressure—he'd much rather stay sober and watch the sheep around him fall deeper and deeper into inebriation.

The doorbell rang again—this time it wasn't Juan, no. It wasn't even anybody remotely important, and if there hadn't been a nagging familiarity in the back of Matt Engarde's mind at the sight of this blonde, bespectacled woman he'd have just as soon closed the door in her face. Somehow, though, she looked familiar… he'd met her before, he knew, but he couldn't quite place where.

She was certainly attractive, that was for sure—and Matt was thankful for the long bang of hair covering one eye as it allowed him to look her up and down and take in her slender if curvy body in the thin black shirt and tight blue jeans she was wearing without drawing unwanted attention. Perhaps, once she got enough alcohol in her, she'd be more receptive to… nah. It was certainly an enticing idea, but he had more important things to concern himself with that night, and she didn't seem like she'd be all that upset over just being a one-night-stand, and where the hell was the fun in _that_, anyway?

There was something in the blonde woman's pose that looked even more familiar than usual, and Matt nodded imperceptibly as it clicked… _Celeste_. She was standing in exactly the same way he'd seen Celeste Inpax stand when meeting someone new, with her weight slightly shifted back onto her left leg and her arms crossed over her ample chest.

"Celeste," he said at last, not positive but pretty sure, and it was always better to start things off on the offensive anyway. "You know Celeste, right?"

The blonde woman nodded, smiling softly. "Right, Matt. You dated her for two years… we met a few times then. About seven months ago, at the Marriot? We all had dinner together?" Though it wasn't obvious, her mannerisms were almost identical to Celeste's, and he'd long been able to read the older woman like a book. The tone of her voice had chilled slightly there at the end… _Ah, I dumped Celeste later that night. Still, if this one's bitter about it? Maybe she's going for world-champion insignificant grudge holder?_

Still, she seemed to know a lot about him, and he could barely recognize that he knew her; he didn't even know her name. It was not a situation that Matt Engarde was comfortable with. "Ah, yeah, I remember. Your name was… Alex, right? So, Alex, why are you here tonight, dude?" True, having more people—especially a hot piece of ass like this chick—at the party might provide a better atmosphere, but there were already quite a few guests and he didn't want to start letting just _anybody_ in lest they start to bring down his image.

'Alex' blinked, as if she wasn't quite sure how to respond. "It's Adrian, actually. And… there's a party going on. Celeste told me she'd be here tonight, and that I should drop in."

Right, that was it. He remembered now. This Adrian girl had been Celeste's protégé, an aspiring talent manager—no wonder she wanted to be here, to schmooze and make her own contacts in the industry. The other half of her sentence, though? He hadn't known that Celeste was coming tonight. Oh sure, Juan would show up—Juan _always_ showed up—but Celeste usually tried to stay away from their parties to maintain her professional demeanor.

She'd done the same when she was his manager, after all, and had only started attending his galas once their relationship took a more… _personal_ turn. Matt nodded slowly to himself in thought, the slight hints of a smirk on his face. He'd heard the rumors about the two of them, and had taken delight in Juan Corrida falling for used goods like Celeste. If she were coming with him to the party? It meant things were starting to get serious with the two of them.

It didn't really make sense to Matt, seeing as how he'd gotten bored with the dark-haired manager a year ago and couldn't see how _anybody_ could possibly find her interesting… but then again, stupider children could be entertained by the cheaper toys, he supposed. "Ah, sure, right," he nodded. "Come in, Alex, dude! Help yourself to anything at the bar!"

"It's Adrian," corrected the blonde as she entered the condo, surveying it in exactly the damn way Celeste used to do. _Wow, can't she do anything her own way?_

The party kept going, with Matt making sure his guests were well taken care of (even if he did really try to avoid that disgusting tub of sweat that was only there because he was the damn writer for the shows and it was a good idea for a young, up-and-coming actor to have him on your side) before the doorbell rang yet again.

This time, it was who Matt had finally been waiting for—Juan Corrida stood outside his door with that _stupid_ straw dangling from the corner of his mouth, dressed neatly if plainly in his usual blue jacket/shirt combination. And standing next to him? Celeste stood in a simple black dress, her dark wavy hair neatly pulled up in a long ponytail, a matching black purse at her side, one hand gently resting on Juan's shoulder.

For some reason that Matt Engarde would never really be able to figure out even months after the fact, Celeste Inpax had never quite looked so good as she did on Juan Corrida's arm that night.

Juan looked past Matt to the throng of partygoers inside, and with that familiar delight inside, the chestnut-haired actor noted how his face fell so minutely that anyone else might have missed it. Even if he hadn't been engaged in these games with the olive-skinned Corrida for years, learning to recognize that look of defeat rather well… Matt Engarde prided himself on noticing the little things about people. Corrida knew that Matt had won this round—again—and his little look of defeat was rather delicious.

He tilted his head up just slightly, cocking it to the side and grinning, "Juan! _So_ glad you could make it tonight, dude! I got a bottle of your favorite Cuervo chillin' in an ice bucket, hate for it to go to waste." His words were friendly, but the tone was one both of them knew well: 'You're pathetic, I don't know why you keep trying.'

To Juan's side, it appeared as though the raven-haired woman recognized that tone perfectly too, for her gaze was fixed pointedly on the long patch of chestnut hair covering Matt's right eye. "And Celeste… it's been too long," Matt half-bowed. "Really, you should have come by more often." As he said that, he noted that she slipped her arm inside Juan's, and grinned inwardly.

_Serious, indeed_.

Matt stepped to the side, allowing the pair to enter his home and join the partygoers.

--

The party was in full swing, and seemed to be getting even more rowdy and uproarious as more people became more and more inebriated. Matt was still playing his host role, brandy snifter in hand as he made sure everyone was taken care of. Yes, he'd won already, but the better this party went, the more the knife in Juan Corrida's ego would twist.

Dee Vasquez was sitting in a chair like it was a throne of sorts, smoking her long pipe—she'd asked Matt if he'd minded, but she'd already lit it by then and he wouldn't have said no to her anyway… she was watching the rest of the crowd dispassionately, having dismissed her guard with the threat of termination after he started to act in a rather drunken manner.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time… well, except for Corrida, who stood to the side nursing a glass of Scotch. Matt had been watching Celeste this entire time as well, and she seemed sort of flustered, though talking to the blonde woman who'd come earlier for a little bit seemed to cheer her up.

Eventually, though, as Matt watched silently from afar in curiosity, Celeste headed for the large picture window glass doors that lead to the small outdoor balcony, and Matt could see her digging into her purse and pulling out a small red and white box.

That was curious. Celeste had quit smoking two and a half years ago, and he'd only seen her do it three times since then. Once was when she'd gotten news that her father had died in a car crash, the second time was when a deal she'd tried to broker for Matt—her client at that time—had gone sour and nearly bankrupted them both, and the last time had been the night he'd dumped her.

Curious indeed. So, to satisfy his nagging curiosity and maybe have a little fun with the dark-haired woman, Matt followed her out of the apartment, closing the large glass doors behind him—there were curtains over the threshold, so they were effectively cut off from the party.

It was a cool Saturday evening in late March, and there was a steady breeze whistling through the buildings that gently ruffled the long bang of chestnut hair hanging in front of Matt's eye. Celeste was leaning against the black iron railing on the balcony, a fifteen-foot drop beneath her. She didn't turn as he came out of the building, nor did she turn as he closed the door. The raven-haired manager raised the lit cigarette to her lips, taking a long drag—the burning embers flared, slightly backlighting her silhouette for a few seconds before fading again.

She exhaled with a cloud of smoke. "Juan and I are engaged, Matt," was all she said. Her soft, warm alto voice was quiet that night as she stood on the balcony, cigarette in hand. The actor let no surprise register on his face, but he'd have been lying to himself if he tried to say he'd expected it to be quite _that_ serious.

"Really," said Matt flatly, moving to stand beside her, resting a leanly muscled arm on the cold iron railing, looking out across the small alleyway at the next building to the side. "How long has that been going on?"

"…about two weeks," responded Celeste quietly, taking another breath of smoke that she held in for a long moment before exhaling again. She tapped ashes from the tip of the cigarette, holding it in between her index and middle finger comfortably and familiarly. "That was when he asked me, and I said yes."

"Who else knows?"

Celeste paused for a moment before shaking her head. "Juan held a public announcement yesterday, but I think he likes to think it was bigger than it really was. As for people _I've_ told? It's… just Adrian, other than you."

The actor gave his head a slight shake. "Really… I'm surprised Corrida asked you, proud as he is."

Silence was his answer, and Matt feigned a cough, covering his mouth with his hand so that she couldn't see the smirk that was on his face—really, a pointless gesture, because from the way she stiffened up, she had to know that smirk was there. _She hasn't told him. That's priceless._

"I'm a professional, Matt," responded Celeste at long last. "You were my last client. Though we're no longer working together, I still have my integrity, and that integrity involves not gossiping about past clients." Her dark eyes flashed as she looked over at him. "About _anything._"

There was a long gust of wind, a cool spring breeze, and the dark-haired manager shivered despite herself, straightening up and looking at Matt out of the corner of her eyes. "I used to think that was refreshing. Now it just makes me cold."

Matt, likewise, straightened up, turning to her and giving his best chivalrous smile. "I could lend you my jacket if you want."

She looked at him coldly, taking another puff on the cigarette, now at its last embers. There was certainly an interesting expression on her face, thought Matt. Something in her dark eyes… of course, she didn't trust him. Still, Matt prided himself on being able to read people—especially her. It wasn't trust in her eyes, but something different. _Huh… strange._

With a shake of her head, Celeste ground the cigarette out on the cold iron railing, tossing the extinguished butt onto the balcony. She reached into her bag and pulled another out of the box that Matt noticed was already more than half-empty. However, before she could go get her lighter, his was already in his hand, producing a small, warming flame.

Celeste looked up at Matt with that same expression in her eyes, not moving for a second, before she leaned in, lighting her second cigarette on his flame. "Thanks," she said before she leaned back against the corner of the railing.

"Anytime," shrugged Matt, tilting his head to the side and smiling at her, his long bang of hair just barely moving enough to allow light to glint off the eye beneath.

The two stood in silence for a while, oblivious to the sound of the party going on inside. Celeste, at last, broke it, looking away offhandedly as she asked, "So… why was it… that it didn't work out? With us, I mean."

_Interesting_, thought Matt, freezing up for a few long heartbeats. That was certainly an interesting question. Of course, it could simply be an innocuous, curious thing—he'd offered no explanation or rationale that night seven months ago, and he supposed most people would want to know why their lover of two years had abruptly, all of a sudden, broken off their relationship. Still… _This could be fun_, thought Matt with a grin he didn't allow to show on his face.

As for why it hadn't worked out? "That's a… good question," answered Matt, taking the smallest of steps towards Celeste, and grabbing the cigarette from her hand. He raised it to his mouth—the butt bore hints of her dark lipstick—and took his own drag of the fragrant smoke. _No, not really. You were _boring_. I had all of you, every little bit of it. You'd given everything up to me. Where the hell's the fun in that? There was nothing left._ "I guess I just didn't see it working out in the long run."

Celeste Inpax plucked the cigarette from his mouth, shaking her head. "Liar," she laughed once, sharply. "You're an asshole, Matt Engarde."

He took another step towards her, shrugging. "How unkind of you." Matt mentally gave a second shrug—perhaps it was time to see if it really _had_ been that second possibility when she'd asked the question. He reached out, squeezing her shoulder, feeling her smooth skin beneath the thin material of her dress. "Really, Celeste, after all we've been through, how can you say such _horrible_ things to me?"

The raven-haired woman looked down at his hand on her shoulder but did not move or push him away, instead focusing her gaze on his bang of chestnut hair. "You're an asshole," she repeated, quieter this time, and it seemed to be almost to herself. Matt's mental grin widened.

His hand crept ever so slightly up her shoulder. "So you say. But then again, I'm not the one who's been lying to my fiancé about my past relationships, now, am I?"

Her eyes suddenly narrowed in a flash, and she knocked his hand off of her shoulder, angrily throwing the half-burnt cigarette to the balcony floor, grinding it out with her shoe. For a moment, it seemed like she would explode in a furious rant, the angry words caught on her lips… and then in the next, she seemed to burn out, shrinking down into the very human form of Celeste Inpax, shivering in the cool spring breeze.

"I'm not... lying to him," she said softly, with that tone that still made it sound like she was telling herself that as much as she was telling him—hell, it wasn't like he really _cared_ how she rationalized it in her own mind—as she suddenly looked down at her feet. "I want to tell him. I _should_ tell him. But… you know why I can't, Matt. Not just yet."

Well, no, he really didn't know—that sort of regret had never really been high on his list of priorities in life—but he knew the theory of such things, at least. "Planning on telling him before he carried you across the threshold as _blissful_ man and wife?" asked Matt Engarde, leaning back against the railing and crossing his arms over his red and white racing jacket, his tone perfectly polite and non-threatening… which, interestingly enough, seemed to put Celeste even more on edge than she'd been.

Celeste didn't seem to have an answer for that, as she leaned over the railing, resting her forearms on the cold steel, silently. The two of them stood in silence for a while, Matt letting his eyes wander over her entire body, the familiar curves that he'd gotten to know quite well over the months hidden beneath that dark dress she wore. Watching how she breathed slowly, watching how she nervously bit her bottom lip, watching how her hands were balled into loose fists subconsciously.

"I've still got that picture of you, you know," he said offhandedly, if only to see her reaction to it. That much was true, at least—Matt didn't know why exactly he kept that thing around, but maybe it was just too much trouble to get rid of it once and for all. Celeste stiffened up, looking over at him warily once before returning her gaze to the building across the alleyway, though there was a definite increase in the pace of her breathing.

Once more, the two of them fell silent. "I'm tired, Matt," said the raven-haired beauty at last, and while it wasn't a particularly intriguing statement on its own right, it carried with it a heavy malaise that somehow piqued the actor's curiosity.

Though she couldn't quite see it, Matt arched a chestnut eyebrow behind his long bang of hair. "Tired of?"

"You. Him. The two of you," she shook her head, still looking away from him. "It isn't going to end, is it? You're going to just keep going back and forth, wasting more and more time and money in an effort to outdo each other."

He stepped towards her, resting his arm on her shoulder, and she didn't push it off. "It's just a game, right? Parties and little competitions here and there," he waved the statement off with his free hand breezily, giving a little shrug. "No harm, no foul."

Celeste turned to him once more, and there was a weariness on her face that made her seem, for a few brief moments, much older than she actually was. "For now," she concurred reluctantly. "But I wonder…" she trailed off, though it wasn't like she actually needed to finish that sentence.

"Besides, it's not like it's me keeping up with it," shrugged Matt. "I'm the one in front. Juan's the one always trying to play catch-up." Again, that was true, and both of them knew it.

"I know," agreed Celeste again. "His contract with Worldwide expires at the end of the month, and we're supposed to go in and renegotiate it, get a salary boost, but it's always just a simple matter of procedure." She paused, a heavy tone in her voice. "I'm… not going to renew it, though. I've been laying the groundwork to move out East, there are some great jobs Juan could pick up in New York," Celeste shot Matt a sideways glance. "Away from you."

_That_ was something that Matt Engarde had not been expecting, though once more, he refused to let it show other than a momentary widening of his eyes.

"He's talented, Matt. I'm… I'm his manager, and it's my job to try and get the best for him. If he stays here, he'll just be in your shadow, and because he's so damn _proud_ he'll always be just working to beat you instead of working towards… other things. Better things."

Matt backed away from her, leaning back against the railing and shaking his head from side to side, allowing the wind to ruffle his long bang of chestnut hair as he chuckled. "Man, and you say _I'm_ a manipulative asshole."

That sparked a reaction, though not necessarily the one Matt had exactly been expecting. An angry flash in her eyes, a "How _dare_ you?!" on her lips, Celeste turned to him, raising her hand to slap him across the cheek.

Of course, he hadn't been Junior Karate Sparring National Champion four years in a row for nothing, and he moved much more quickly than she, reaching out to grab hold of her wrist as her hand swept towards his face. Celeste held back a small yelp that was more surprise than pain (though he intentionally made his grip just a _bit_ too tight) as he, wrist firmly in hand, stepped towards her, forcing her back up towards the iron rail of the balcony.

"You said it yourself. He's _proud_. I don't give a damn if he's here or wherever," that wasn't entirely true, there was something refreshing and familiar about constantly proving his superiority over Corrida, "but man, even as dumb as Juan is, he'd feel like a wuss if you just cut and ran. You don't think that he'd be devastated?" Matt gave a short, sharp laugh as he pushed Celeste back, her back bumping up against the railing. "And I thought you were supposed to _know_ someone before you married them, man."

"Of _course_ I know that," snapped Celeste back, and though she winced as he grabbed her wrist she didn't quite offer anything more than token resistance as he pressed her up against the rail of the balcony with his own body. "But if he stays here, he'll keep trying and trying to beat _you_ and you know as well as I do that he won't win… and he'll keep trying until it kills him. And it _will_, and…" she grew quiet, looking up at Matt's face not a foot away from hers. "I don't want that to happen," her voice seemed to shrink even more than she did.

Matt fought a grin and wasn't entirely successful. "So you really do have feelings for the bastard after all."

"I agreed to spend the rest of my life with him, I'd be an idiot if I didn't."

He let go of her wrist and instead slowly cupped her hand in his, entwining his longer fingers with her slender ones deftly, reaching out with his other hand to almost gently caress her cheek. "More than you had for me?" He smiled, tilting his head to the side, his long bang of hair falling away so that Celeste could just barely see the outline of his right eye.

Celeste let the contact go on for a few heartbeats more than she should have before pushing him away with a curt, muttered, "Don't touch me." That little internal grin of his grew just a little bit wider.

But he wasn't going to push that issue. Oh, sure, you could reach breaking point easily by just hammering in at one little spot, but it was far more interesting and satisfying to find multiple angles of approach first. He took a few steps back away from her, looking back into the party to make sure all was going well. There was that blonde woman… talking to Jack Hammer, it looked like.

"So, you're heading out East. Fair enough. Taking that blonde girl with you?" He shook his head. "Man, that one's cute. I really should have paid more attention to her when I was with you. Absolutely lovely, don't you think?" Matt grinned at Celeste, who seemed to suddenly get tense, balling her hands up into fists subconsciously and nervously.

Still, Celeste apparently welcomed the opportunity to quickly latch on to a new topic. "Dammit, Adrian… I told her to come to start and really make contacts by herself, but I told her to go for the _rising_ stars, not a well-known, fading name like Hammer." Matt noticed her desperate attempt to change the direction of the conversation—she thought this Adrian girl was a safe topic. Naturally, though, she was wrong.

"Rising star, Celeste? And you didn't tell her to go talk to me? Really, that hurts," Matt's shoulders bounced slightly as he chuckled to himself. "A hot young superstar-to-be deserves such a hot young manager, don't you think?" When Celeste looked at him but said nothing, the actor sighed, running a hand through his short brown hair. "How disappointing. No 'stay away from her,' then?"

Celeste's alto voice was soft as she answered, "If I said that, you'd just go after her even more. Besides… Adrian is… an intelligent woman. She knows better than to go with someone like you."

Matt shrugged in response. "So I guess she's _not_ going out there with you? I don't know, Celeste. You seem to be quite important to her, by the way she acts. Have you told her about it, yet?"

After a pause, Celeste shook her head, admitting, "No. I'm going to tell her after this weekend, once I've talked about it with Juan. And… just because I'm out there doesn't mean I can't come back and visit her here…"

"Hm. Well, doesn't mean I can't _try_, right?" He grinned at her. "Celeste, you're pretty intelligent yourself… and _you_ still fell for me," said Matt, putting his hand on her shoulder once more. "So, if you're all the way out there, and she's all alone here, who's to say I couldn't have my fun with her? After all, I'm _Matt Engarde_… docile, naïve, innocent, and flaky. Who'd be threatened by that?"

The cool spring breeze caught her wavy raven hair as it did his long chestnut bang. Celeste Inpax stood there silently, an expression on her face that for once, even Matt Engarde couldn't read. Slowly, almost tenderly, she reached up with her left hand to gently rest it on his cheek. Her thumb and fingers softly delved beneath that one bang of hair, running over the soft bumpy ridges of scar tissue normally concealed from sight. The two of them remained silent for a moment, his hand on her shoulder, her hand on his face, touching the remnants of past wounds tenderly. Slowly, Matt Engarde smiled at her, a smile that on anyone else might have been touching or affectionate, but this was a smile that didn't carry up into his eyes, a smile which Celeste knew well—and yet she did not flinch, she did not pull away.

"You're only nineteen, Matt…" said Celeste at last, a sort of disbelief in her voice. Oh, sure, it could have been referring to the success of his career thus far, but Matt knew full well what it _really_ meant.

"_How are you like this already?"_

That was what she was saying, and it almost made Matt want to start laughing in her face. It was something she would _never_ understand, the stupid woman. Not until the day she died.

"And I've still got so far to go," he responded as if she'd been using the first meaning. But she hadn't been, and he hadn't been, and even as she ran her fingers over the lines of scar tissue on his face he knew that she knew what he'd meant.

_Oh, what the hell_. Shifting his grip to the base of her neck, Matt pulled Celeste closer—she didn't resist—and started to lean down, tilting his head in order to give her a kiss.

"No."

_No?_ Her free hand was planted firmly against his leanly-muscled chest, and she pushed away from him, shaking her head. "Not that, Matt Engarde… whatever we had in the past? Is _in_ the past." Though soft, her voice was oddly passionate. "I… love Juan. And I think the reason you came out here with me tonight, and tried to do that just now? Is _because_ I love Juan." Celeste closed her eyes momentarily before looking directly at both of his. "You're only acting like this because I'm 'his.' That much is obvious."

She sighed, but her gaze remained unmoving. "This is just another one of your games, Matt Engarde, and I'm tired of playing."

He let no trace of any disappointment show on his features, though the fact that she'd actually managed to resist him—and that it had been _because_ of Corrida—and that she'd chosen Juan over him… that was strange to Matt, and it hadn't been what he'd been expecting. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it started to piss him off. She was actually _rejecting_ him for Juan? What the hell?!

Still, he was far too good of an actor to let it show. "You could have gone back inside at any time," he pointed out, and he was right.

"You're right, Matt. I could have. I… should have. I shouldn't have been out here with you in the first place," her voice seemed to harden in decisiveness. "So I won't be." With that, she finally pulled away completely, sliding the large picture glass door open—the sounds of the party grew louder—and stepping back into Matt's apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

Matt Engarde stood in what was almost confusion for him, replaying the last few moments in his head over and over in momentary befuddlement and shock. For some reason, it… stung. She had rejected him—_nobody_ rejected him. What was worse, she had pushed away for… _Juan_. The young actor suddenly felt very much as though he'd just lost one of their games that he hadn't really realized he'd been playing, for once. He hadn't even really intended to make it about that bastard Corrida, he'd just been interested in seeing exactly how far he could push the woman before she cracked.

His pride… his pride actually _hurt_. She had actually hurt him. That was… weird. It was new, actually. A new feeling; rejection, and not one he particularly liked, even intriguing as it was. That woman—that excruciatingly dull, weak, boring woman—had rejected him, and it honestly stung his pride… true, it was only a small sting, but even that little ache was far more than he ever intended to feel, let alone from the likes of her.

_How _dare _she._

All that talk of being tired and refusing to play their games, and yet there she'd been, a pathetic wretch of a woman that had nevertheless dared to attempt to best Matt Engarde's pride. She wanted to get away from the games? That _bitch_ thought she could win like that and then just bow out and run? _Fuck that_. Celeste thought she could just get out that easily? Matt would show her exactly how deep in the games she really was.

After a few more split seconds of thought, he replaced his perfectly innocent mask on his face, and went back into the condo in search of Juan Corrida, momentarily waving off a few guests who wanted to talk to him—they were drunk anyway and could wait, and this took precedence over their inebriated ramblings.

He found the olive-skinned actor near the door to his kitchen, leaning up against the wall and sipping some sort of drink that he'd obviously made himself during the time that Matt and Celeste had been talking (somehow keeping that stupid straw dangling from the corner of his mouth the entire time, which was a feat in and of itself). As he saw Matt approach, his face grew stoic and expressionless. Nevertheless, their game had rules, and as such his pride forced him to abide by them. "Nice party," he grudgingly admitted, sipping his drink as he did so.

"Yeah, thanks, dude," said Matt breezily. "Hey, you didn't tell me you were getting married to Celeste! Congratulations!"

Juan looked at him inquisitively, as if he wasn't sure exactly what Matt was up to. "…thanks," he said at last with a thin smile. "She's one hell of a woman."

Matt nodded in agreement. "Oh, I know. You know, dude, even with all this bad blood between us, I gotta say," he grinned viciously in his mind, but kept his vapid exterior the same. "I'm impressed with your attitude, man. Even knowing about the whole thing with Celeste n' me, you still manned up and took the plunge. That's really cool of you, dude," he gave Corrida a thumbs up, that mental grin widening as he saw Juan's smile suddenly appear very brittle.

"…what the hell are you talking about?" said Corrida at last, dismissing it as just one of Engarde's games—ironic, thought Matt, as he was telling the truth for once.

"What, you mean you didn't know? Celeste n' me dated for like, two years back when she was my manager before she went over to Worldwide Studios. You mean she never told you, dude? Huh."

Juan's face was blank, stunned and almost slightly horrified as his rival rambled on. "Well, it's still cool that you're planning on marrying her even though she never told you that, dude. I'm impressed. Major thumbs up!" Matt flashed his trademark grin, giving Juan a double thumbs-up this time around.

Corrida's prematurely-aged face was completely stony now, frozen with that stupid little smile that looked like would break any time now, and Matt could almost _hear_ his psyche cracking with a delicious little noise. "You… you're lying," said Juan Corrida with a short, forced laugh.

The chestnut-haired actor shook his head, giving a little shrug. "Why would I lie about it, dude?" He grinned widely, leaning in and whispering almost conspiratorially, "So, uh, what was it that won you over, dude? Was it that little thing she does where she, like, kisses the little dangly thing here on your ear?" He pointed to his earlobe, pulling it gently and giving a short snicker. "Because, dude, that just drove me _wild._"

He crossed his arms, giving a little mock sigh. "Dude, she really was an absolute tiger in the sack. Just always willing to please, so eager and she had these _things_ she'd do. I gotta be honest with you, Juan-dude, but man do I miss that about her. Still, I guess it just didn't work out with her n' me. Kinda got bored of her, dude, y'know? But, man, if you feel the same, then great for you. Seriously, even though we've got this thing going, I gotta man up and admit I'm impressed." He flashed that grin again, once more giving a thumbs-up.

Juan's normally-olive skin was actually a sickly pale that Matt Engarde really couldn't have ever imagined it was capable of turning. He looked at Matt, no longer smiling in any way, shape or form, but a look of sudden horror and revulsion on his features that he wasn't even bothering to conceal. It reminded Matt of his frequently-seen "defeated" expression, but this was somehow a hundred times more delicious. "Oh, and man, the way she just sort of squeezes her hips when she's on top of—"

"Stop it," Juan cut him off, breathing a bit more heavily now. "You… y-y-you're lying. You _have _to be lying. You goddamn bastard, I don't know… I don't know how you know those things, but you're _lying_ to me."

Matt let a hurt look cross his face and gave a little shrug, finding it difficult to actually repress the gleeful mental laughter. "Dude, look in my bedroom, down the end at the hall… on the wall to the left, if you don't believe me." That was where Celeste's picture was hanging, after all. "Seriously, why would I ever lie about it, dude? Anyway, just wanted to say how cool I thought it was that you were gettin' hitched… gotta get back to the party, you know, dude?"

With that, Matt turned and left the frozen-in-place Juan, allowing himself a small smile as he did. Juan would go check; his pride wouldn't let him _not_ check. It was just a matter of time, then, until he saw that picture of his raven-haired beauty of a fiancée, "With Love, Celeste" scrawled in her elegant handwriting, and knew the truth. Really, Matt said with a mental shrug, he was doing the man a favor, letting him know what had been concealed from him all this time.

Matt went back to the party, and he saw Celeste over in a corner talking to the blonde woman, Adrian—she flashed a glance at him but said nothing more, resting an affectionate hand on Adrian's shoulder as they talked.

Seconds later, Juan Corrida burst into the main room, an almost-palpable cloud of darkness and fury surrounding him as he pushed his way through the partygoers, who reacted with differing degrees of confusion and irritation depending on how drunk they were. He looked at Matt with the most purely _venomous_ glare the young actor had ever seen on his face in their years of rivalry, and his face was still delightfully pale.

Corrida made a beeline for the shocked Celeste and her confused-looking friend, and Matt was close enough to them to hear Juan's enraged half-whisper as he held his hand out demandingly. "Celeste, give me the car keys."

Unsure of how to react, Celeste's gaze kept darting from Juan to Matt, and Matt thought he saw momentary comprehension cross her features, though it was quickly masked by desperate denial. "Are… Juan, are you all right? Do you think you're sober enough to drive? Are you sure… are you okay? What happened?" Her voice was calm enough on the exterior, but the young actor had long learned to recognize when she was starting to waver and crack. She placed a slender hand on his shoulder in a concerned, hopefully-comforting gesture.

Juan's voice was icy and poisonous as he repeated himself, pushing her arm away roughly. "Car keys, Celeste. _Now_." Though she still looked almost frightened in her confusion, Celeste quietly obeyed, reaching into her purse and placing a set of car keys into Corrida's outstretched hand—and with no further goodbye, the actor stormed out of Matt's condo in a fury.

Matt went to the door, watching as Juan stormed down the stairs, headed for the sports car he'd arrived in, but keeping one eye on Celeste and her friend.

In her concern, Celeste started to leave, going to follow Corrida—but that Adrian woman reached out, grabbing her hand for a moment (was that desperation in her eyes?) Celeste turned back, and then opened her arms and enfolded the blonde woman in a warm, affectionate hug that the other seemed to be gladly returning. Though she was still obviously bewildered and alarmed, Matt did notice that she seemed to relax slightly, melting into the momentary embrace as if it were almost a… refuge of sorts. The two kissed each other on the cheek in an intimate gesture that it almost felt delightfully voyeuristic to watch, and then Celeste squeezed Adrian's free hand, putting her other hand on the other girl's shoulder. "Don't worry, Adrian," Matt could hear her saying, "we'll talk about it on Monday, all right? I'll see you then."

The two of them smiled at each other, pulling away slowly—it could have been his imagination, but it seemed like that Adrian girl held on to Celeste's hand for just a split second longer than she should have—before they broke contact with each other, and Celeste went after her brooding fiancé, shooting a look at Matt as she passed that he answered with just a grin.

She had left the building and was walking down the steps when Matt stepped out of the doorway, feeling the refreshingly cold spring breeze start to blow against his face. "Hey, Celeste," he called out to her, and she stopped, turning to face him with that unnamable expression on her face that seemed, if anything, to be just incredibly wearied.

The breeze caught the end of his long chestnut bang, blowing it to the side just far enough to reveal three little marks of scar tissue as he smiled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I guess I forgot to tell you… congratulations on your engagement." Matt Engarde smiled at her, the smile that he knew she knew quite well as the breeze died down, his bang of hair returning to its normal position.

Celeste Inpax said nothing, but looked at him for a few more seconds before turning and disappearing to chase after her fiancé.


End file.
